


Slippery When Wet

by Racethewind_10



Category: Jessica Jones (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Adult Language, F/F, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Jessica refuses to have feelings, almost fucking in the shower, but not because shower sex is awkward, implied Jessica/Luke, implied Jessica/Trish, implied Matt/Claire, lots and lots of the word fuck, reference to alcoholism, reference to canon compliant violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-30
Updated: 2015-11-30
Packaged: 2018-05-04 03:28:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5318726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Racethewind_10/pseuds/Racethewind_10
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They’re naked in the shower and Jessica’s been wrist deep in Claire and all she wants to do is close her eyes and have those talented fingers keep massaging her scalp.  That is dangerously close to feelings but right now she’s too fucking tired to care. To cover this unacceptable lapse, Jessica turns, sliding her arms around Claire’s waist and pulling her close till they’re breast to breast, bodies touching slippery and warm. Claire’s hair is slicked back and it makes her stupidly pretty cheekbones stand out even more so obviously the only option is for Jessica to kiss her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Slippery When Wet

**Author's Note:**

  * For [trancer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/trancer/gifts).



> Is it really a 'ship' if its just you in a rowboat? Do I care? Nope. Full speed ahead on the SS Jessica Jones and the Temple of Claire (name courtesy of fuckyeahmelancholy on tumblr)

For a woman with an acknowledged drinking problem, waking up with a hangover isn’t actually as common as you’d think for Jessica. Some of that might be her tolerance but more than likely its that she just doesn’t sleep all that fucking much. You can’t wake up with a hangover if you stared at your ceiling all night. Yay.  (Trish says her version of optimism is actually just denial which, whatever, Trish). 

The pounding pulse echoing in her head is what drags Jessica out of unconsciousness, the pain bad enough that for a few drumming heartbeats, she’s disoriented because she may be a drunk but she’s not usually this much of a 

Oh. _Right_. There was no drinking. There was just that guy with the fists like rocks who got in a couple lucky shots before Jess got him tranqued and turned him over to guys who said they were cops but looked suspiciously like Feds of some kind. Probably fucking S.H.I.E.L.D. 

Moving is unpleasant in much the same way that being run over by a truck multiple times can leave a bruise or two, so anyone who gives Jessica shit for the pitiful, inhuman whine she makes as she tries to sit up can suck it. Opening her eyes is obviously out of the question and she’s so caught up in the fact her nerve endings are cussing her out the sound of her name makes her jump. Or attempt to jump. Her body isn't really cooperating.

"Fuck."  

“Dammit, Jessica take it easy," Someone demands from the other side of the room, quickly followed by footsteps. 

That voice. Jessica knows that voice. “Claire?” she groans, managing to crack one eye, insanely grateful that its dark outside so the jackhammer behind her eyes just stays consistent instead of getting worse.  “What the fuck are you doing here?” she rasps. 

“You’re welcome,” Claire deadpans easily, but she looks a little too relieved to really make the sarcasm stick. Wow. Jessica must really look like shit. 

“Yes, you really do look like shit.” 

Jessica blinks, finally leveraging herself into a sitting position. “I didn’t say that out loud.” Christ, if it turns out Claire’s a mind reader she is so, so fucked...or hell, maybe not. Logically, its highly unlikely that a woman as smart as Claire Temple will be surprised that the busted up mess of a P.I. who really enjoys eating her out has more than a few vivid fantasies about Claire rattling around in her booze-soaked brain.  

But Claire’s look says ‘no shit' very clearly.  “No, but I hardly need to be telepathic to read that look on your face.” 

“Fair. But you didn’t answer my question. What are you doing here?” Kilgrave may be dead but Jessica’s never been called trusting and people showing up to help her is just. Weird. 

“Your friend Trish called me. Said you weren’t answering your phone and since she’s in L.A., I’m the next best thing. Lucky for you. You took a beating but your pupils are even and reactive and I couldn’t find any external signs of head trauma. Trying to talk you into an MRI would be - “ 

“Useless.” 

“Figured,” Claire looks strangely resigned. “You people are all the same.” 

“Us people?” the drum symphony in her head is fading enough that Jessica can finally grasp what the hell is going on and dammit. What the hell is going on is that she’s flirting with Claire. Or trying to. Probably failing. The point is she’s not supposed to flirt with Claire. Claire is a Good Person (tm) and while she seems fairly appreciative of Jessica’s ability to give her multiple orgasms, Jessica likes to keep the Good People (tm) in her life at a safe distance. Like Trish. Like Luke. 

Yeah okay Jessica fucking sucks at distance. Whatever she’s trying. Jesus. 

“This a not-so-cryptic reference to your mystery guy? The broody heroic asshole in the costume?” Jessica asks, rolling her neck carefully. She’s fully vertical now. Huge improvement. 

Claire rolls her eyes but there’s just a hint of a smile pulling at her lips. Jessica knows that hint of a smile. She’s mature enough not to start singing “Claire and Matt, sitting in a tree...” but like, only just barely. 

“Yeah he’s as stubborn as you. I guess I’ve got a thing for heroes,” Claire smiles.

“I’m not a fucking hero.” Jessica’s tired and hurting, that would be her excuse (if she needed one) for how harshly that comes out and she cringes. Dammit, Claire doesn’t deserve to deal with Jessica’s shit like that. The woman showed up in the middle of the night to patch her up. She’s struggling to find to find the right words - ‘sorry’ is something that catches in her throat, claws in her tongue like it doesn’t want to come out - when there’s a gentle touch at her shoulder, knowing fingers at the nape of her neck. 

Claire runs her fingers through Jessica’s hair, soft and soothing like she’s almost petting Jessica. It should be insulting. It feels really, really good. 

“Okay, for 'pains in my ass'. How’s that?” 

Jessica almost laughs but fuck. Ribs. “Better." It comes out as a soft sigh, a release of tension she's carried for so long she only notices it when she lets go as Claire works at the knots in her neck. 

“Come on. Let’s get you showered, get something to eat and get you into bed.” 

And Jessica, who never takes orders from anyone, dammit, groans and follows Claire to the bathroom. 

~*~

Showering with Claire is one of Jessica’s favorite things. All that silky bronze-toned skin, water cascading off the swell of Claire’s breasts, following the line of her collarbone. Jessica likes to lick it away with her tongue. And okay, the shower’s too small to really fuck in but it can still be fun for foreplay. 

Claire won’t let Jessica have any fun. 

“No fucking.”

“But,”

“No foreplay either. You may not have a concussion but I’m not letting you get your blood pressure up.” 

“Ugh.” Jessica pouts. She's been told she has a good pout. 

“Shut the hell up and let me wash your hair.”  Obviously not good enough to work on Claire. 

It doesn't really work with Trish either. Dammit. 

Jessica admits defeat and shuts the hell up. In her defense, the only other person who has ever washed her hair like this was Trish, and that was...another time. Claire is deft and gentle, soothing without making it a caress, sensual without an undercurrent of sex. They’re naked in the shower and Jessica’s been wrist deep in Claire but right now all she wants to do is close her eyes and have those talented fingers keep massaging her scalp.  That is dangerously close to feelings but she’s too fucking tired to care at the moment. To cover this unacceptable lapse, though, and distract herself, Jessica turns, sliding her arms around Claire’s waist and pulling her close till they’re breast to breast, bodies touching, slippery and warm. Claire’s hair is slicked back and it makes her stupidly pretty cheekbones stand out even more so obviously the only option is for Jessica to kiss her. 

Jessica kisses her. 

Claire sighs like she’s annoyed but she kisses back, slow and lazy, arms winding around Jessica’s shoulders, mindful of the bruising on the right one. There's soft lips and the slick heat of a tongue in Jessica's mouth, but when Jessica nips at her lower lip, Claire pulls back, shaking her head. “Pains in my ass,” she mutters, kissing Jessica lightly, firmly, reaching behind her to turn off the water and stepping out to grab a towel. 

“Wait does that mean you do anal?” Jessica calls back, grinning now. She gets a towel to the face for her effort and okay. She can do this, the teasing and the flirting and shit. Trish is slowly getting Jessica to realize she can maybe, sort of do the friendship thing with more than one person. Except then Claire is wearing Jessica’s ratty (but clean, she’s not an animal she does laundry...sometimes) tank top and boxers and sliding into bed beside Jessica and its so damn hard to hold on to the ‘friends’ part of this ‘friends with benefits’ thing. Or whatever the hell they are. 

“I programmed my number into your phone. Next time you get beat to shit, call me, Jessica.” 

Jessica has an amazing mattress and she’s clean and exhausted and Claire is warm and smells really good. It's nice and safe, comforting in a way she's only felt when she crashes at Trish's place and the world is getting fuzzy and dark around the edges meaning she’s falling asleep. Jess wants to just let go, its hard to make her mouth form words, but she forces herself to ask,

“Why?” 

There’s a pause, and then the bed dips, Claire scooting closer. She rests her head on Jessica’s chest and throws an arm around her waist and Jessica’s hand comes up to hold her there. 

Jessica Jones, not pushing someone away. 

Trish would throw a fucking party. 

“I haven’t figured it out yet. But I wanted to.” 

It’s an answer that means everything and nothing and strangely, terrifyingly, Jessica thinks she understands perfectly. That’s the last thought she has before everything goes dark once more. 

 

Fin.


End file.
